An unhappy middle-aged banker agrees to a procedure that will fake his death and give him a completely new look and identity - one that comes with its own price.

Tony: I couldn't help it, Charlie. I had to find out where I went wrong. The years I've spent trying to get all the things I was told were important - that I was supposed to want! Things! Not people... or meaning. Just things. And California was the same. They made the decisions for me all over again and they were the same things, really. It's going to be different from now on. A new face and a name. I'll do the rest. I know it's going to be different. I suppose you do too.
Nora: The good things always happen with the rain.
Nora: What kind of man is he? There's grace in the line and color, but it doesn't emerge pure. It pushes at the edge of something still tentative, unresolved - as if somewhere in the man there is still a key unturned.
Tony: That's quite an analysis.
Nora: Not really. When you come to think of it - it sort of fits everybody, doesn't it?
[first lines]
Man in Station: Mr. Hamilton?
Arthur Hamilton: Yes?
[Man in train station hands Hamilton a folded sheet of paper and turns to walk away; Hamilton stares after him, then opens the folded paper to find an address, with no explanation]
[to Tony Wilson]
Doctor in Operating Room: Relax, old friend.
[aside to a medical assistant]
Doctor in Operating Room: Cranial drill.
Nora: This may hurt a little.
Tony: I agreed to take my chances.
Mr. Ruby: The question of death selection may be the most important decision in your life.

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